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The Obscure Portrait

It lay in suspense in a cold open space,
The oldest sketch in memory they could make
Striking admirers from near and afar
They dropped a ransom with it to part
But none could reach the painter’s satisfaction
Smoothing with double figures for a ransom
With their bid, he remained yet unyielding

Once the show was over,
He got rid of his sketches
With good count of moneys
Ready to paint some more for sale
The old sketch lay next to him silent and pale
There was a mystery untold
Which he never revealed to a fold
Not even to his mother!

Years exceeded upon his brush,
He had a collection which drew a rush
O’er the countrysides and big cities
His sketches got rewards in meetings
And that one old frame still got no fame
Hanging in cold isolation and shame
Beautiful in its way however outlandish

When the sun went down and his back curved low,
And off his window the singing birds had far flown
To let known his merchants of his sudden ail.
From seven seas they flew and set sail
Reverencing the great artist and his creations
Rendering accolades and consolations
Something yet struck a thriving collector
“This remarkable edifice I must with me send home”!

Rewards were exchanged without more ado,
Riches swirling for purchase in tempo
The painter conserved that one painting for a reason
He saw the value in many years increasing
The abandoned frame soon kissed the lips of all
Hoarded for its worth and historical call
A little print he had for-long on it installed“On thy preserved old, they shall extol”